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61 Eclipse This evening eclipse Perplexes me, as if the day Had got ahead of itself By stumbling On some forgotten obstacle— Pitched forward As though plush darkness Was just ahead to cushion Its fall, to let it down easy. Leaves’ shadows are rent To sickle-shaped remnants Fingers’ shadows whittled Away, it’s dimming, cooling Birds gone, dusk chorus Skipped— Then, at the last instant Day catches itself, rights itself: A slow seesaw rebuttal Dark retreats, shadows Flip, cast their opposites And that golden hour, before Twilight is restored, must be Lived all over again. The chorus Begins. ...

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